


(Quite alright) Hiding tonight

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, this is so random
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 01:03:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: Tomorrow, I'll be fasterI'll catch what I've been chasing after and have time to playBut I'm quite alright hiding today





	(Quite alright) Hiding tonight

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this fic contains an example of xenophobic language towards Özil; some of the words/sentences were taken directly from the comment sections on his Instagram, some were 'inspired' by the discussions I've seen and read. I'm not sure if the slur "balija" is used outside of Balkan, honestly, I don't even want to know. And I'm sorry.  
> I feel sad for Özil. Yes, there are probably things that he could have done better, plus I genuinely think that a member of a national team should sing the anthem of the country he represents in the match (or at least try to pretend/look interested while others are singing) - but that doesn't justify the terrible attacks on him in some of the press and discussions.
> 
> The title and summary of this story come from a beautiful song by Alex Turner "Hiding tonight"
> 
> Some cute things to remember :')
> 
> https://78.media.tumblr.com/9cc1effe16dc40a2302f83f4be7c76a4/tumblr_njs47eGhgk1tbpf9uo1_640.png
> 
> https://78.media.tumblr.com/ae4735704602cac3c80e447c2be67df3/tumblr_nk4j93nkiI1u2unt1o1_500.jpg
> 
> And as always - sorry for any possible mistakes in my English ;)

Marco found Özil sitting in one of the armchairs in the hotel lobby, with the phone in his hands, obviously trying to avoid any possible contact with the outside world.

The situation in the whole team was terrible and although Reus tried his best to start a conversation with a few different teammates, nobody seemed to be in a mood for a chat. They all disappeared into their rooms with lowered eyes and bowed heads, unresponsive to the reporters in front of the hotel as well as to any attempts to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. There were no words for describing the utter humiliation of this nightmare - who's ever heard of the South Korean football team? If it was at least Argentina, England, Spain... _Scheiße_.

Reus needed to talk, he couldn't just go dig his head underneath a pillow and cry, he couldn't pretend that this is alright, it happens - because it doesn't happen, not to them, not to the Mannschaft! He needed to vent at least a bit, the silence of his comrades-in-defeat was driving him mad and Özil conveniently sat here in the best possible place for a frustrated exchange of views on today's match, seemed to be the only available person to talk to.

He has learned a long time ago to respect Özil's privacy and his need of being left alone in a quiet meditation regularly and not to bother him when he's immersed in prayers; he knew how to tell when it's appropriate to approach him - and this was exactly the case.

"Hey."

Mesut just nodded automatically and didn't even bother to look up who's come to join him.

Marco wasn't willing to give up, he sat to the next armchair and turned to Mesut again. "Well, this has been one shitty day."

Not even this managed to drawn Özil's attention.

"Hey, Mes - ?"

" _What_?!" Özil snapped, finally making eye contact, interrupted only by his rapid blinking.

He looked distressed, to say the least.

"What's the matter with you?"

There was a clear surprise in Marco's voice; Mesut was the last person to think of as choleric or hot-headed; actually, Marco has probably never heard him even raise his voice outside of the pitch.

 " _What's the matter_?" Özil repeated angrily. "What are you, blind?"

"Hey, calm down - what have I done to you? There's no need don't need to be so snappy about it. We all lost - "

It was at this moment he noticed _what_ was wrong with Mesut - his shaking lips let out a quiet muffled sob just seconds before his whole face betrayed a great effort to keep the pain inside.

"Come on, Mes - it's alright - " - he surely didn't expect Özil to react this emotionally. "It's not all that bad - "

"Not that bad?" Mesut was practically yelling, completely out of his usual calm self, and he slammed his phone on the coffee table.

_Oh. The phone._

"You're reading those comments again - " Marco said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

Özil just muttered something and turned away, looking like a child that got caught doing something bad and now feels ashamed.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Mesut's _"There's nothing to talk about"_ was probably the fastest answer ever given; however when he added a not-so-reassuring _"Really"_ , his voice broke.

A few seconds passed before Marco, realizing this is not alright, hastily got up from his seat and squatted down beside Mesut's chair - "Umh - are you - ?"

Yes, Mesut was crying, and it was painfully obvious, so obvious that Marco felt stupid for bluntly asking instead of doing something - but what was he supposed to do?  
Marco has never considered himself to be a good shoulder for his friends to cry on; he could joke around, make others laugh or simply not care but he didn't feel confident in using comforting words in fear of making it sound fake. What can he say to Mesut? It's okay and all other variations of that didn't seem to work.  
He placed his hands on Özil's thighs, partly to keep his own balance and partly to make sure Özil knows he's there with him. "Come on, this happens."

It didn't work well either; Mesut slowly turned his head and gave him a death stare. He usually looked unbothered and calm, lost in his own thoughts and unaffected by the mess around him, some were praising him for this strength, some were mad at him for not showing emotions - but this was just his face, his visage and his way of dealing with everything, there was nothing to change.

As far as Marco knew, fans have always made fun of Mesut's eyes (Is he being held hostage? Has he ever slept? Does he even care?) - but that was different, meant as a joke. The silly chant of Tottenham fans _Özil's eyes are_ _offside!_ might have been too much to be taken as an innocent joke but it was still just a song, a cruel one, but _a song_.

At this point, even that rude song was just a light-hearted fun compared to the messages Özil has been receiving for the past few days.

"It happens? There are people threatening my sisters and my brother - " He took a deep breath. " - and I can't do anything - "

"Some people - you know, there are haters who always find - "

"It's not about some people! I don't care if someone writes I don't like you, hell, I don't care if someone writes I hate you - but this is - "

He reached for his phone again while wiping the tears from his eyes with the other hand. "I don't mean to complain - "

"You can complain all you want. In fact, I came to complain about the match today - "

"Oh. Yeah." Mesut's eyes were fixed on the phone screen as if he wasn't paying attention anymore but then he started to read with his shaky voice. " _You're the most useless player in the team. We could have stuck a scarecrow on the pitch and it would have been more effective_."

Marco couldn't help but raise the corners of his lips - well, at least this was original and not vulgar; he's read worse comments - but the saddened smile disappeared as soon as Mesut continued.

" _What the fuck is this cockroach doing in the team. He doesn't know the words for the anthem 'cos he's illiterate. A fucking cockroach. Go back to your shithole. He's probably had his brain transplanted. Go fuck your mother. I hope you get killed for this disgrace. Remove kebab. These fucking mussies can't do anything right_  - "

 With every other word, his voice got weaker and weaker. Marco grabbed him by his wrist to make him stop but Mesut went on until he eventually ran out of breath and tears filled his eyes again.

"Mes, come on, you don't need to read that - "

"-  _I hope your whole family dies_ _\- you fucking balija -_ "

"Mesut!"

He knew how much Mesut adored his family and how deeply he has always been affected by anything bad that happened to them; seeing him read these comments, watching him struggle to say the words that people with fake names and accounts wrote to him sent shivers down Marco's spine - "Put that phone down and look at me!" His hands started drawing small circles on Mesut's thighs, it felt like the most relaxing thing to do. "Listen to me. You don't deserve this. Nobody does. Turn it off, okay?"

"It won't solve anything."

"It will make you feel better. Gimme that phone." He caught a glimpse of one of the angry comments with a line of exclamation marks, something like _you disgusting pig!!!!!_ and it made him sick to his stomach - how can anyone write this to Mesut? He would never hurt a fly and if he's ever done something bad, it was by a foolish mistake, okay, everyone can make a misstep once or twice - the photo with Erdogan was probably not the best idea but there was no need to make such a big fuss around it -

He quickly found the music player app and played the first song that popped up.

Özil closed his eyes and breathed out slowly as Marco put the phone down on the floor, out of his reach. "It's better like this, isn't it?" 

"Not really." Mesut sighed "I'm sorry, it's not your fault. It's been a rough day - "

"I wish I could help you with this - but I'm afraid there's not much to do." He squeezed Mesut's knees in a comforting gesture. "I hope you know that we all are with you and if you ever need to talk - or anything - any help... Sorry, I'm so bad at this."

Mesut covered Marco's hands with his own palms. "You're here. It counts. Thanks."

Reus didn't answer; a weak smile crept timidly onto Mesut's face and that was all he cared about.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join the ship that sails at slashandsports.tumblr.com


End file.
